


Lend Strength

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sick Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hates being sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lend Strength

**Author's Note:**

  * For [comedicdrama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comedicdrama/gifts).



> For my poor dear comedicdrama who is sick and needs cheering up. I wish I could send you someone to look after you but I guess I'll have to settle for sending Derek to Stiles. Get better soon.

He couldn’t talk and it was basically his own personal hell. When he woke up in the morning it was just a sniffle and he’d totally topped up his Vit C and then it just got worse and worse. By the time he got to lunch, his head was throbbing and he felt like a cheese grater had been rammed down his throat.

“You feeling okay, man?” Scott laid his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. It was nice. Soothing. It was cool. “You look like crap.”

“Thanks.” Stiles didn’t lift his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that he couldn’t.

“You should go home.” Isaac sounded only half sarcastic. “You can probably make up that Econ test. And it’s not like you can practice like that.”

Stiles rolled his head to look at him but didn’t want to move. Or speak. And that was so far from normality for him that he had to agree that Isaac had a point.

Scott moved his hand and Stiles let out a soft moan. “I’ll drive you.” 

 

His sheets were cool against his hot skin as he flumped down onto them. He hated being sick. He hated feeling as if his head was stuffed with cotton wool. He especially hated the constant, sore, tickling feeling in his throat. He wanted to cough but it hurt.

He also couldn’t concentrate on anything. No reading, no research. Not even watching random YouTube videos when his arm got too heavy to lift and click. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to sleep, the room spinning vaguely and nauseatingly around him. The throb in his head kept him awake until hours later, when he was shaken out of his light doze by a familiar hand. It was only the touch that made him realise he wasn’t dreaming, wasn’t hallucinating. It was certainly Derek who had his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck.

No one would admit to calling Derek. Stiles knew that. The pack tended to ignore boundaries like privacy after all. But, even though he tried to summon up anger that someone thought he needed looking after, he was glad someone had thought to let Derek know he wasn’t well.

“’lo” Stiles muttered into his pillow. Derek’s hand brushed across the hair at the back of his head and Stiles grimaced. He was feverish and sweating and all kinds of gross. Who knew what he smelled like to someone with heightened werewolf senses. “’m sick.”

“I know.” Derek’s voice was softer than usual. Actually, that wasn’t quite accurate. Derek’s voice was plenty soft when Stiles was involved. There was something about dropping their voices to a whisper even when they were all alone in the loft or here when they were making out or, you know, more. Made it intimate. Made him feel like they were the only people in the world. “Flu?”

Stiles muttered into his pillow without actually making any sound. He wasn’t a doctor but it was probably something like that. Or a cold. Caught while traipsing around cold, damp woods at night after his friends who were stupid enough to be werewolves. He was sure it was all Scott’s fault. Or Isaac’s. He should probably be blaming Derek too but Derek was the only one currently stroking his fingers through Stiles’ hair.

“You should drink something, change your clothes.” Normally that would have been the cue for Stiles to trot out some line about getting naked and needing hydrated but all it did was make Stiles groan at the thought of movement. Which made his throat hurt. Which started a whole spiral of pain thing he didn’t really want to investigate any further. “I’ll help.”

Stiles began to mentally thank whatever deity who was listening for werewolf strength as Derek held him up and peeled his shirt and pants off. He left the boxers on, which Stiles was mildly glad about. He wasn’t sure he wanted the first time he was totally naked around Derek to be this time. He wanted to be hale (heh) and hearty and raring to go. Right now, he couldn’t even manage more than a slight twitch at Derek’s manhandling. The brush of his hands over Stiles’ bare skin. That image alone would normally have got him from zero to rock hard in under thirty seconds.

Derek was muttering as he ran his hands over Stiles’ forehead but Stiles wasn’t paying any attention to that. Instead he leaned against Derek and felt pathetic and sorry for himself. It was at times like this that the whole missing his mom thing got sharper, more present. It was like the ability to carry around her memory got harder and heavier and Stiles just missed her. It wasn’t like she had any magic powers to make him feel any better. It was just that she would have brought him soup and looked after him and Stiles wouldn’t have come home to an empty house and need to have his boyfriend (if that’s even what they were. That was probably a discussion that they should have and a discussion that Stiles never wanted to have) take care of him like this.

Derek lowered him until he was resting against his pillows and carefully tucked the sheets around him. Then he went out and Stiles was alone and sore and just miserable. Everything ached now, not just his head and his throat, and his stomach started to roil unpleasantly. He was wondering if he could make it to the bathroom when Derek came back. His hand rested against Stiles’ forehead again and the whole potential puke situation just diminished. It didn’t vanish completely, but Derek seemed to draw it out of him.

“Okay. Water. And then if you keep that down, juice.” Derek fussed around with a glass and straw and then with Stiles’ pillows. Stiles started to curse his sore throat. He could be making all sorts of jokes that weren’t really jokes about Derek being a sexy nurse, come and give him a thorough check up and all sorts of suggestions that were totally going to lead to a very new and shiny fetish for him. But he just didn’t want to say a word and it was torture. Sheer torture.

And Derek was laughing at him. Not actually laughing but Stiles could see the way his shoulders shook and his eyes danced and he had this smile that wasn’t a grin but wasn’t nothing either. They froze for a moment, just looking at each other. Stiles broke it but holding out the glass.

“I think you should try and sleep some more,” Derek said. He didn’t move from where he was sitting on the edge of Stiles’ bed though, still running his hand up and down Stiles’ leg where it poked up from under the covers. “I’ll close the shades.”

Stiles nodded. His head felt too heavy to hold up again and he snuggled down. Derek being in the room soothed that weird restlessness he’d felt earlier. The bed shifted when Derek moved but he didn’t leave. Instead he moved about, werewolf quiet, the air disturbed by his movements really the only sign Stiles had he was still there.

The door was closed quietly, the shades drawn. Derek took off his boots and tapped at Stiles’ laptop. It took an effort but Stiles inched his way onto the cooler portion of his mattress, leaving a gap, a hint, for Derek to take. Stiles wetted his lips, trying to work out what to say with the least amount of effort.

Derek slid onto the bed. “I’m just going to read. Okay?”

Stiles didn’t really care. Derek could find his porn stash and jerk off to that (and again, nice _nice_ thoughts he could do nothing about) for all Stiles cared as long as he didn’t move and Stiles could keep leaning against him. There was something exceptionally reassuring in the rustle of the pages, the soft sound of Derek’s breathing, the way he seemed to fill the space despite the fact he was (ha) shorter than Stiles. It was his muscles that were to blame for that. Stiles knew that he was definitely going to sleep more soundly now.

Just before he lost the fight to stay awake and enjoy the whole Derek in his bed thing, Stiles was aware of Derek’s arm sliding down and, briefly, Derek’s fingers entwining with his. These were all things to think about when he was better.


End file.
